


Little Victories

by GirlWhoWrites



Series: The Way of Things [2]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, For Kayla, Missing Scene, NSFW, Past Lives, Project Jasper Gets Laid 2021, Reincarnation, Romance, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28826601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWhoWrites/pseuds/GirlWhoWrites
Summary: Alice isn’t the least bit subtle as she drags Jasper to their room but there’s nothing that needs to be said right now that can’t wait. Their past lives are rolling in her mind, their victory fresh.The missing night after the battle.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale
Series: The Way of Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113605
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Little Victories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautlilies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautlilies/gifts).



> A gift for the exquisitely talented and all-around delightful Kayla, who requested I elaborate on this line from The Way of Things: "They are hardly the only couple to spend the night tumbling together, but they must be the loudest because when they reappear the next morning with darkened eyes and clean clothes, Jacob and Emmett are looking at Jasper with a new and very specific kind of respect, and if she flips both of them off behind Esme’s back, no one has any proof."
> 
> I highly recommend you read The Way of Things first, to understand the context. 
> 
> Of all the skills I anticipated leaving 2020 with, smut-writing wasn't one of them. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

At the return to the headquarters, Alice isn’t the least bit subtle as she drags Jasper to their room but there’s nothing that needs to be said right now that can’t wait. Their past lives are rolling in her mind, their victory fresh, and she wants her mate beneath her, inside of her.

And the low rumble Jasper utters as they slip up the stairs lets her know he wants the same.

The second the door to their room closes, he pulls her up and into his arms for a deep, urgent kiss - one that doesn’t quite seem enough, and she tries to press closer, wants to taste his venom on the back of her tongue.

She finds herself tugging off her own clothing, shredding her shirt and bra in seconds, wanting his hands on her, wanting to press up against him skin to skin. It’s so much, the feelings twisting around inside of her, and the best thing to untangle them is him. Her mate, her husband, her other half. He breaks the kiss, only long enough to kiss and nip at her throat, making her shudder.

His mouth is next to her ear. “When you’ve had your fun, I’m going to have mine. I’m going to see how many times I can make you scream before you beg me to stop.”

She groans low at that, and the visions that flick through her head of the night ahead of them. She’s already soaked through her panties, can smell herself on the air - Jasper can too, she can see his nostrils flaring, the way he’s licking his lips. It would be so easy to just let him take control, use his gift and his mouth and fingers on her and get her release but there’s something inside her that wants more than that; that wants to wind them both up, that wants teeth sinking into flesh, that wants Jasper to make good on his threat.

He lays her on the bed surprisingly gently, considering how they both feel, and she watches him strip with barely contained lust on her face; god, she loves his body. All taunt muscle and pale flesh. She unbuttons her jeans and slips her hand inside her panties, groaning softly at the contact. Her own hand is a second-rate alternative, but any touch is good right now - especially when Jasper spies her and the pleased little rumble turns into a full growl. Her boots and jeans and underwear are removed without care in a split second, as he gets on his knees and spreads her wide open, and takes her wrist to suck her fingers into his mouth. The sight of that, with her venom and her scent on his lips, and the sensation of him lapping at her fingers is enough to make her start panting.

“Remember the steps in Dacia?” she murmurs, trying to get control over herself, her eyes falling closed. He grunts around her fingers, lust and arousal mingling between them as he remembers that night, so very many lives ago - another wild hunt, her darting and teasing him afterwards, taunting him like she did before he caught her the first time.

And he caught her again, both of them hot and wild, and he’d pushed her down on the old steps behind the castle and stripped her and fucked her right there, murmuring sweet nothings into her skin, commenting on how anyone in the castle could see them, could see how good she was to him, how well he pleased her. She remembers he stayed mostly clothed, his breeches unlaced and his shirt torn down the middle. His torso was sticky with drying blood and she remembers all the filthy things he said to her, all his demands in his never-ending pursuit of possessing her. And she knew well and good he never felt like he had her, had all of her, even when there was nothing more of herself she could give.

She loved him then and she loves him now; it fills her differently, feels a little different, but it is the same, truly. They’ve both changed as well - they were different sides of the same card. She had been distant, a little cold and more than a little taunting, and he had been full of charisma, flippant and flirtatious; back then Jesper would have chased any man or woman that caught his eye; she herself caught him en flagrant more than once in those earliest days and she remembers that mischievous grin he’d flash, the look on his face as he found his peak with one of his numerous paramours in the dark corners of a hallway.

She remembers the look on his face when he found pleasure between her thighs. It was already hard to explain to a man with endless bed partners that she wasn’t going to disappear; that she does nothing she does not want to. That back then she had abhorred being touched until it was his hands on her body. She would sooner walk into the pyre than turn him away. But he worried; she saw it in the way he reassured her she was his only, now and forever; the gifts he brought her; the way he loved her. That constant campaign to love her and keep her when she had no intention of being anywhere else.

“A good night,” he murmurs, kissing and nipping at the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t remember a bad one,” she sighs, her fingers carding through his hair.“Even at the end… we were so happy together.” She opens her eyes then, and meets his gaze; watching her as his tongue glides across her thigh. “We’re always happiest together. Please, Jas.”

He smirks at her before he slides two fingers into her and presses his mouth to her clit. That makes her moan and her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling his face closer to her. The taste and smell and feel of her is too much and he instinctively begins to purr; the vibrations are enough to make her shriek as her orgasm rips through her, Jasper refusing to slow down and she can already feel the next one brewing. Her visions flicker through her mind; everyone downstairs heard her, knows what they’re doing, and is going to hear everything tonight and she cannot find it inside her to care. They could be watching from the doorway this very moment and she’s not going to stop, not going to let Jasper stop.

She cries out again, shrieking and shaking. Untangling himself from her grip, Jasper climbs onto the bed with her, looking like some kind of forgotten god, his eyes black and laser-focused on her. The kiss he gives her is almost enough to make her submit, the taste of herself on his tongue makes her groan, but instead she pushes back, her arms sliding over his shoulders as she moves on top of him. She pulls away only long enough to press her lips and teeth against his throat, enough to make him groan, his arms so gentle around her and she’s amazed he’s still got some semblance of control.

It’s taken every ounce of willpower she’s got to get to this moment without throwing herself at him, without biting him hard and marking him as hers.

Without putting him on his back and riding him until she can’t feel her legs.

He acquiesces to her demands and lies back on the bed as she straddles his stomach, his hands massaging her thighs as his gaze sweeps approvingly over her body. She dips her fingers in between her legs again with a soft groan and he growls, not willing to play that particular game tonight. He wants to be the reason his wife screams out her pleasure, as delectable as she is when she’s performing for him. And maybe it’s the other lives, the other selves, swirling around in his brain, but he likes the idea of everyone hearing them, everyone knowing she’s his and he’s hers, and nothing will ever change that.

He remembers when they first arrived at the Cullens, and Emmett liked to tease them; most of it in good fun, other ways were a little pointed, intended to provoke. His and Alice’s sex life had been one of those areas he liked to needle, since they stayed quiet and didn’t break beds and usually slaked their lust after a hunt. That hand-holding and a brush of lips against a cheek was all that happened before an audience.

Until it wasn’t. Until the day the Cullens went hunting and he and Alice stayed at the house alone. He was absorbed in the library, and she was bored. That’s really all it took; boredom and a total lack of privacy for weeks on end. How she ended up on her knees, with his hand fisted in her hair as he fucked her mouth was anyone’s guess but he remembered it with perfect clarity - her huge golden eyes staring up at him, the warm slickness of her mouth and throat, the warmth of her emotions as she let him take what he needed, probably already seeing his plans to bend her over the desk…

Her little grunts and moans around him are enough to push them both further; it’s a little rougher, a little harsher than normal and he finds himself saying things to her that are crude and explicit and he can feel that she likes this game, likes submitting like this to him, and that just makes him growl at her. One of her hands is fisted in her skirt fabric, trying to hold off touching herself and he praises her for that, tells her how he’s going to reward her.

He’s so fucking close, and his movements are getting rougher and she just whimpers at him, and he tightens the grip in her hair.

“You going to be a good girl, and swallow for me?” he murmurs at her and that’s when movement catches his eye and Edward is standing in the doorway of the library looking like he wishes he could die again, after murdering both of them. The emotions leaking out of him are disgust and horror and embarrassment and shame, and Jasper wants to laugh at him, wants him to know that when Edward has a mate, he’ll understand.

Edward turns around stiffly and leaves, and if her mouth wasn’t full, he’s sure Alice would be giggling. The whole encounter only lasted five seconds - about four seconds too long in his mind. Jasper looks down at her, loosens his grip on her hair, carding it through his fingers.

“Finish me off, darlin’?” he manages, the roughness and control of their game fading away for now as Alice lets out a little purr and takes control, the pleasure of her mouth making his eyes roll back.

It had been a good day.

She’s rubbing herself against him in the most maddening way, but one that he knows feels so good to her. She looks inhuman, right now, all pale skin and dark eyes and there’s something predatory in the air. She leans forward to kiss him, hard and sharp, and her venom mingles on his tongue and he pulls her closer. There’s a rumble in her chest and in one swift movement, she pulls back and slams herself down on him; his hips jerk hard against her and he shouts out at the sudden shock of sensation, his hands falling to her thighs. Alice has her head tilted back and her eyes closed and she just loves how full he makes her feel. Like he’s forced himself between every single atom that makes her up.

She straightens and rocks forward, drawing hisses out of both of them; their eyes locking as she begins to move, grinding down on him, setting an uneven rhythm that seems to fit how they both feel - a little wild and unpredictable, intense and uncontrolled. His grip on her thighs tightens; if she were human, the bruises would be dark and precise, and she likes that image in head, of his hands imprinted on her skin so intimately, with no mistake of how they got there. She’s got dozens of overlapping bite marks on the inside of both her thighs; they both enjoy it when she’s so close to the edge she can’t form a sentence or even a thought, her hips arching to keep him close as his tongue laps at her, and then he turns and sinks his teeth into her skin - it never fails to make her scream.

She picks up speed, Jasper groans below her, and wants her to use him how she sees fit; her emotions are hot and wild, and he jumps in surprise when he reaches to stroke her and she growls a warning; not that, not today. The bed is banging up against the wall, and he can feel the coil of pleasure building in her, in both of them, and it’s so close.

His climax crashes through him suddenly, but she doesn’t let up, continuing her maddening pace, and he knows he promised she could have her fun, but the urge to take control, to pin her down on the mattress, is overwhelming.

She murmurs his name as she rolls her hips against him, and she’s so close; her emotions are pushing him to the brink again, and as he falls over the edge, he immediately rolls and drags her with him, so that he can sink his teeth into her pretty white throat. It’s an awkward angle, made more awkward by Alice’s resistance to him trying to wrangle control and the earth-shattering orgasm that rips through her when he wins, jerking hard against her with his teeth buried in her neck and she’s shrieking.

He doesn’t let her rest, but shifts away to roll her onto her stomach, guide her to her knees and plunges back inside of her roughly, enough to inspire a gasp from her, his hand against the back of her neck, to keep her in place. They’re long past the point of restraint; her moans are loud and lewd as he thrusts into her. He realises that she’s touching herself, drunk on how roughly he’s handling her, how good it feels; on the bite mark still shiny and raw on her throat; on how much she always likes it when he takes control of her, of them.

“Don’t, Alice,” he manages gruffly, and she whines at him again but obeys, bucking against him enough to make him growl at her, and he feels a thread of mischief through her emotions. He slams into her once, twice, and this kind of roughness isn’t normal for them, but it would be lying to say that they aren’t both getting off on this control, this urgency that is thrumming between them. She’s distantly aware of a creaking, cracking sound that is probably the bed, but she’s struggling to care.

She forgets all about it when Jasper tightens his grip on her hip and her neck, and pushes his gift at her, wefting pleasure and arousal and satisfaction around her until she screams his name, jolting under his restraint. And as she shivered and shuddered, he took his time setting a pace that has her whimpering and murmuring beneath him. He breathes her name as he moves, and in that moment, it’s just them - no war with the Volturi, no past lives swirling in his brain, no fear of the future. Just him and his beautiful wife.

He ends up sprawled across her back, both of them panting as he presses kisses to the back of her neck, down her throat and shoulder as she giggles. And somehow, she ends up on her back, letting him dot kisses down her throat - over her fresh bite mark that he lingers on, tasting his own venom on her skin and making her sigh - and over her breasts and down her stomach, as she laughs at him, her emotions sweet and happy, like clouds.

He kneels between her thighs, just admiring her. She’s so beautiful to him. He remembers France, remembers that dormer room that wasn’t fit for occupants. That she looked through her eyelashes that very first time when she reached into his pants to stroke him. Remembers the noise they made that night when they realised no one could stop them - they had their own little home together, and back then, that was more binding than a priest and a wedding ring. No one to wander by and casually offer them a few coins for a turn between her legs; no cold alley brick wall or stale backroom where someone was probably leering through a keyhole. No name-calling or anger or judgement.

Just the two of them in that narrow, creaking bed, working out how they fit together, what felt good. He’d fumbled through it, suddenly less than confident in the face of a pretty girl who he wasn’t paying or who hadn’t been drinking; she’d giggled at his nervousness, after stroking him until he was rock hard, had climbed on top of him and made him see stars, and then collapsed sweatily on top of him with a huge grin.

He wonders if she knew that grin was the moment. The moment that he’d never leave her, she was his; he was head-over-heels, forever and a day. And back then, he had nothing to offer her except the clothes on their back and an attic room with rats and pigeons as their bedmates, but he selfishly wanted her anyway. He always was the luckiest son of bitch in existence that she wanted him too.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. There doesn’t need to be words spoken right now; the love is swirling between them and as he moves to drop a kiss on her stomach, and she sighs. He loves it, right now, that her scent is mingling with his - that anybody that came across them now would know she was willingly his, mind, body, and soul.

His teeth graze over her hipbone, enough to make her shiver, and he’s certain she hasn’t seen his intentions, forgotten his words from earlier. He smirks into her skin as he peppers kisses over her skin.

He moves further down, and she’s watching him, curious as his mouth traces over her thigh. Both her thighs bare scars of teethmarks that have been imprinted dozens of times over the decades. He loves the feeling of his teeth in her flesh; it appeals to the demon, the animal inside him that wants to mark its property. He’s got his own scars from her dainty jaw; one where his neck and shoulder meet, a bite that startled him the first time she did it because of her ferocity and her aggression that he was hers now, and she needed everyone to know that.

And there’s more than one overlapping on his inner thigh, too, from times when she’s on her knees and they’re both feeling a little wild. It’s a feeling like nothing else, having his mate bite him because she’s out of control, and the memory of it is enough to make him nip her thigh, making her twitch and giggle.

“Are you ready, darlin’?” he finally murmurs, grasping her thighs and spreading her wide for him. He likes her like that; no shame or modesty or anything else but seeing her like this, for him, without her resistance or questioning. The demon inside the man likes her obedience, likes that she can play at being in charge, but she’ll always submit in the end.

She shifts on the bed, looking at him with dark eyes. It’s a come-hither look, and he knows from her emotions she hasn’t make the connection yet to his earlier promise.

“For what?” her voice is teasing and lazy.

“You’ve had your fun,” he says and it takes a minute for her eyes to widen, “and now I’m going to have mine.”

“Jas!” she begins protesting but as he presses his mouth to her, she rolls her hips against his face, her eyes fluttering closed as if she expects this to be soft and gentle, as if this isn’t one of his very favourite ways to have her with her pleasure bleeding through into him. She’s so expressive however, whenever he touches her, her emotions written on her face and spilling over through his gift.

The whole damn house can hear her, he has no doubt about that; she’s not quiet as he licks and sucks and moans against her, describing how good she’s being, how good she tastes; he groans and palms himself as she begs him not to stop. The pleasure hits her sharply, and she’s positively writhing on the bed, and he’s going to remember this night for the rest of this life and into the next, as he kisses her thigh and counts each time she falls over the edge, still urging him to keep going. 

“Jasper, please,” she finally manages, her fingers tugging at his hair, “I want you up here.”

He moves up and onto the bed, and pulls her into his arms, sliding into her as she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest as they move together, slower and gentler than any other way they’ve touched tonight. She clings to him and he’s run out of words to describe how much he loves this woman, will always love her.

He remembers when she was entrusted to him as a child bride; she had been raised to believe the marriage bed was intended to create children, and to please her husband. Nothing else mattered, least of all her pleasure and comfort. She was scared when she married him about what he would expect. She knew no babies would come until she bled, but they were in a hurry to marry her off and his father agreed that they did not need to wait for her to mature. She had nearly cowered away from him at the wedding, at fear of the unknown.

But he hadn’t touched her on their wedding night, or the nights that followed. It would have been cruel, unforgivable, to hurt her in such a way. Instead, he makes sure she is warm enough, and that she gets enough to eat. He tries to make her feel safe, even as she crouches in the corners, waiting for anger or violence. He isn’t a big talker, but he tries to reassure her - she need not fear him, and she need not tell a soul that he hasn’t lain with her.

Eventually, there had been camaraderie there; they are friends, co-conspirers. They sleep curled together in blankets and furs for warmth and safety, and he always loved how she would hold onto him in her sleep. He hunts, and she cooks and keeps their home, and they both ignore the fact that everyone is vocally disappointed children do not come for them in those early years.

And one day in spring he looks up, and realises she was a woman. Smart and funny and desirable, and he knows everyone around them would tell him it’s his right to help himself to her, especially when he’s waited so damn long, but he wants her heart as well as her body.

It’s easy in the end, to kiss her softly, to pull her closer. She blushes but kisses him back, her hands eagerly seeking out bare flesh because she’d been hoping for this for awhile, unsure how to ask. That she wanted her husband so badly but didn’t know the words to explain it. And it was as simple as a kiss, as pushing clothes off and out of the way, and him promising not to hurt her. It was her exploring his body with eager hands, and him touching her in places that made her gasp.

In every single life, she’s always been the thing that has given him meaning, has smoothed down the rough edges. And he’s always been the one to protect her, and to give her purpose. It never changes; and Jasper’s always had a disinclination towards the idea of ‘two halves making a whole’ but when he looks at her, he understands. That in the lives he never finds her, he is lesser.

He tightens his arms around her, and she tilts her head back to look at him, and right in that moment, he is Jasper and she is Alice and they are no one else. And they love each other like nothing else, and they always will.

It’s a gentle rhythm, one that pushes them over the edge slowly, and Alice gasps his name into his skin, her face pressed against him as his hips roll and press against hers; he lets out a rough, shuddering sound in the shape of her name, and they kiss each other, deeply, as they spill backwards into the bed.

“I love you.”

—

Dawn light filters through the windows, and she’s sprawled out across him, both of them content to just lie together quietly. Eventually, they’ll have to get up and face the world. They both need to hunt, badly, and with the death of the Volturi - and the Romanians - there is a vacuum in their world. There must be governance, must be some kind of oversight of the laws that allow them to exist safely. Decisions must be made, and not all of them are going to be good ones.

But for now, they just hold each other tight, and enjoy the quiet.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> ...And then Jacob and Emmett bail Jasper up the next day to find out exactly why it sounded like Alice was being murdered, and if he could give them some tips. 
> 
> Hopefully, that wasn't totally embarrassing, and I hope you enjoyed it, Kayla! <3


End file.
